Amor Fraternus (A Study in Brotherly Love)
by mylovelymindpalace
Summary: Birthday Kidlock. Mycroft worries about Sherlock constantly, but he isn't always the best at showing it. A birthday present for the beautiful xLovely-Little-Psychopathx.


**This is a birthday story for the marvelous xLovely-Little-Psychopathx. Happy birthday love!**

Sherlock tugged at the hem of his suit coat. The seams had been irritating him all night. Well honestly, the entire 'soirée' (as Mummy had termed it) had been aggravating beyond all belief. He had no idea why it was necessary for him to even be there. Not a single one of Mummy's friends would notice if he slipped upstairs to the nursery and spent the evening curled in his armchair, constructing what he had decided to call his mind palace. But instead, he was forced to stand by the drafty French doors that led to the garden, greeting people he neither knew nor cared about. At least he had Mycroft standing next to him. Whispering giggling deductions to his brother made the birthday extravaganza slightly more bearable.  
Sherlock slumped dramatically on the sofa in the nursery, his suit coat discarded and his tie loosened around his neck.  
"That was abhorrent!" Sherlock stretched his toes outwards towards the fire which blazed cheerily on the hearth.  
"At least you got to leave early." Mycroft said. "I was forced to endure the whole abhorrent affair."  
"Oh joy! I got to leave early after two hours of staring at Lady Dunkirk's quivering double chins at dinner."  
Mycroft gave him a withering glare and reached for the spiced cider that sat next to him on the table.  
"At least you had some one bearable sitting on one side of you. I would gladly trade you Mrs Lewis for Molly Hooper. I had to endure her dementia- induced redundancy through dinner AND the subsequent dancing."  
Sherlock couldn't help but grin at his brother's misfortune.  
"Molly is…acceptable."  
Mycroft scoffed.  
"Acceptable? Is that what they call it these days? I saw you dancing with her. There's no need to deny it little brother, you were more than overjoyed to be in such close proximity to her."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes indignantly.  
"Don't use phrases like 'these days'. It is less than appropriate for someone your age."  
"Fine. It's your birthday. I'll let you off just this once. But just so you know, my deductive skills are more powerfully honed than yours. I can see the emotions that you attempt to hide."  
Mycroft stood suddenly and reached behind the chair where he was sitting.  
"It is high time we replace that horrendous excuse for a violin that you are currently using."  
Mycroft plunked an old, battered violin case on Sherlock's lap. The younger boy's face was illuminated by an uncharacteristic grin.  
"Mycroft?" He gasped as he undid the clasp of the lid.  
The violin inside was beyond beautiful. The varnish was brilliant, the purfling and fingerboard smooth ebony. Sherlock fingered a sixteenth note scale up the strings.  
"Mycroft, it's a Stradivarius. Isn't it?"  
Mycroft endeavored to leave the nursery, but Sherlock held him back by the wrist.  
"Isn't it?"  
Mycroft inclined his head slightly. The little boy settled the violin in the armchair next to his own as gently as if it were a living thing. He wrapped both arms around his brother's waist, hugging him tightly.  
"Thank you!" He whispered.  
"Isn't it time you went to bed?" Mycroft asked hoarsely.  
Mycroft sat alone in front of the dying fire, the light of the flames flickering like demons across his face. He stood suddenly, one hand wrapped around a mug of cider. He gently pushed Sherlock's bedroom door open with the other, careful not to squeak the door. The light from the moon fell gently across the little boy's face, and Mycroft couldn't help but be a little sad at the innocence that played across the young features. Innocence wasn't a quality long retained in the Holmes family. He stooped and pressed a kiss to the milky forehead, sweeping an errant curl from his face. He carefully extracted the violin case from under his brother's arm and settled it on the floor.  
"Goodnight Sherlock."  
The little boy stirred in his sleep, his long-lashed eyelids fluttering open.  
"Goodnight Mycroft." He muttered before settling back into his snowy duvet.


End file.
